The Fear of Being Alone
by Acherubis
Summary: The Warden Commander is worried about Anders and seeks him out in his room. What she finds is not what she expected.


**The Fear of Being Alone**

I slowly make my way through the hallways of the Keep. The people I meet on the way smile at me, some pat me on the shoulder, some tell me they are glad to see I am better again but none of those smiling faces is the one I want to see.

That face hasn't shown in more than a week, ever since we came back from our mission or, more precisely, since I can recall waking up at the infirmary a few days later. It is the reason why I am on my feet in search for him now and against the explicit warning of the mage who tends to me that it is still too early for me to be up and about. I know he is right. My head is spinning, I am a little dizzy and the barely healed wound in my side hurts like all hell but I have to see him. My worry for him is greater than my worry for my own well-being.

I asked Nathaniel about him when he came to visit yesterday and he says Anders is doing fine. He assured me of just that for the better part of that week but I don't believe it. I know him. His guilt is probably eating him whole even though it is in no way his fault that I got injured down in the Deep Roads.

It is my fault alone because I acted without thinking when I charged into that group of darkspawn with no care for the consequences. In fact, had it not been for Anders, I would most certainly be dead now. That hurlock's poisoned blade caught me off guard and it almost split me in half with the sheer force behind the blow. I shiver with the memory. It is a small miracle that I am still alive and it is all thanks to Anders.

But I know that doesn't matter because he thinks he could have prevented it if he was just a second faster. I know because it felt like that for me when my brother died in my arms. I know because he did not come to see me. Guilt is a sneaky bitch where the people you care for are concerned.

I have to stop halfway down the hallway that leads to his rooms to catch my breath. My legs are shaking with the strain of having to carry me all the way from the infirmary up here after so many days in bed. Yet I clench my teeth and stubbornly order my feet to move again after a moment's rest. Only when I reach his door, I take another moment to allow my breathing to slow down and to try not to look as if I have just run ten miles with a horde of rabid mabari at my heels because it certainly feels like it.

There is no answer to my hesitant knock so I try again, more firmly this time but still, everything remains silent. I frown. It is always possible that he got called out to tend to some injury or another but I doubt it. As far as I am informed, everything is quite calm around the Vigil for now and it is already too late in the evening for him to still hang around the library. It is far more likely that he is indeed inside but ignores whoever he thinks is at the door. Just to make sure, I knock a third time but when there is still no answer, I open the door uninvited and let myself in on my own.

Everything is dark inside except for the dying embers in the fireplace and a sole candle on the desk in the living room and it is quiet as a grave. I have to stop by the door until my eyes have adjusted to the changed lightning conditions before I am able to make out more than just shadows and blurry outlines.

I almost wish it was completely dark when I can finally see properly again. Maybe then I wouldn't have noticed the open trunks and cabinets. Maybe then I wouldn't have seen the scattered books and carelessly discarded papers on the floor. My stomach tightens into a ball and my heart begins to race with fear. He did not run, did he? Surely he is still somewhere around, right?

My eyes frantically dart about the room for a sign that I am overreacting, that this is not what I think it is. Maker, please let him still be here! I am close to tears and panic tugs at my guts when my foot suddenly connects with something solid on the ground. I look down and my knees get weak with relief as my eyes lock on the open backpack there. It is half packed with clothes, carefully wrapped bundles of herbs and some other things but it is _still there_ and that means Anders is as well. I take a deep breath and will my rapidly beating heart to slow down again.

When I have calmed myself to the point where breathing is no longer an effort, I make my way over to the door that leads into his bedroom. This chamber has a single candle on the nightstand as well and it illuminates a huddled figure on the bed. He has his head propped up on his knees and it looks as if he's fast asleep.

"Anders?" I gently ask in a low voice.

He stirs and slowly raises his head. Bleary eyes in a too pale face try to focus and after a moment he recognizes me. For a second there, something like joy lightens his features but it is quickly overshadowed by guilt and shame, then just as quickly replaced by anger and disapproval and I see him clenching his fists.

"What are you doing here?" he snaps instead of a greeting and I am slightly taken aback by the harshness of his voice. I don't let him see it, though, and step further into the room. His eyes lock onto my right side. Anders of course notices my careful movements and guilt flickers across his face again.

"I needed to see you," I tell him. "You didn't come to check on me once. It had me worried."

He leans back against the wall with a groan as if to say _I knew that would happen _and turns his head away from me. He looks tired and strangely lethargic, a fact that worries me even more because it is so unlike him.

"Anders?" I ask again when he does not answer.

"I'm fine. Just leave me alone," comes the impatient reply, slightly slurred and a little belated. Finally, it dawns on me what is wrong about the picture in front of me.

"You're not", I object. "People don't hole up and get drunk when they're fine."

Anders' head slowly turns my way again and there is a definitely angry expression in his brown eyes now that stands in stark contrast to his relaxed posture.

"So what if I'm drunk? What do you care, anyway? Mind your own business for a change and leave me alone!"

Those words hurt. I know he does not really mean it but I can't help the pang that flashes through my heart, regardless. I bite down on my lip hard to keep myself from saying something equally scathing and my hands clench into fists. I am tempted to turn around and leave him stewing in his own grease but I don't. I can't. I care way too much for him and it is obvious that he needs someone right now to just be there. I am also afraid that he will do something stupid if he's left alone. Like running.

I settle down at the foot of the bed, ignoring his sharp and hurtful words just like he passes on to ignoring me. Silence fills the space between us, long and tense and heavy. I am unsure of how to handle him right now. This is all new for me. I've never seen him in a state like this and it makes me feel helpless.

"It's not your fault," I say when I can't stand the silence any longer, addressing what I think is the cause of his current mood. His answer is a derisive snort but apart from that he keeps ignoring me. I'm becoming increasingly nervous and with becoming nervous, my agitation grows. Anders already is a stubborn bastard to deal with when he's sober and he can be quite frustrating at times but I know how to manage that. I really have no idea, however, how to get through to him when he's drunk.

"Would you please talk to me, Anders! You're scaring me!" I burst out, not knowing what else to do. He chuckles and I don't like the sound of it at all.

"Why, but that's the idea, love. If I scare you enough maybe you finally won't bother me anymore."

He's spitting pure venom now and it leaves me close to tears. What have I done to deserve this spite? Why won't he let me in? I just want to help. I don't want him to feel guilty for what has happened. More than ever I want out of here but still I don't leave. I can be just as stubborn as he is and that stubbornness keeps me rooted to the spot. I won't let him win. My back straightens and I shoot him a defiant glare.

"No chance, mage," I snap at him. "You will not get rid of me so easily."

Anders holds my gaze with equal determination and we stare at each other in a silent battle of wills. I did not think that possible but the tension gets even thicker and I wonder if I did the right thing by confronting him. Maybe I should have been more patient. Maybe I should have just kept my blighted mouth shut. But what's done is done and so I just keep staring.

He is the one who caves first. His shoulders slump and he hangs his head in resignation. All tension vanishes into thin air as are the vibes of anger he's been radiating the whole time.

"Why?" he whispers. "All I do is hurt you. Why do you still care so much? No one else does so why you?"

It sounds so desperate that it physically pains me. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment to regain my composure.

"That's not true, Anders," I force around the lump in my throat. "A lot of people care. My brother did. I do. Nathaniel, Sigrun, your friends at the tower, we all care about you. You're important to us."

He shakes his head and curls into a ball, arms wrapped tightly around his chest as if he's trying to protect himself. It breaks my heart to see that and not for the first time I find myself wishing those damn templars and their oh-so-holy chantry to the void. So much self-doubt. So much fear. They did this to him. They are responsible for him thinking he's not worth the dirt under their nails when he's worth so much more than ten, no, a hundred of the blighted bastards. At least he is to his friends. To me. Especially to me.

I reach out and gently touch his shoulder but he flinches away.

"Leave me alone," he repeats but this time it's a plea, pained and broken. Without thinking about right or wrong I scramble onto the bed next to him and wrap my arms around him. He tries to shake me off but I hold onto him and eventually, he gives up and stops fighting. I feel his heart racing and the tears that I've been holding back spill over.

"Why do you keep pushing me away? I love you. Please, Anders, I want to understand," I whisper.

Anders takes a shuddering breath but he doesn't answer. He seems to shrink even more in my arms and he's trembling. I'm beginning to be really scared. Maker, help me, I don't know what to do!

"I'm afraid."

The words are barely audible, just a whisper on the wind, but it's a start. He's finally talking to me and I can't begin to explain how relieved I am about that little concession.

"Don't be," I softly mumble through the tears that choke me and breathe a kiss to his temple. "I'm here. I won't go anywhere."

"Yes, you will," he answers, voice tiny yet terribly certain. "People always leave. You let them in and then they abandon you and it hurts. I don't want to be hurt."

Despite the throbbing pain in my side I tighten my hold of him. I try to make him feel what I obviously can't express in words. I know he wouldn't believe them, anyway. They are too easily spoken and just as easily forgotten. If I want Anders to trust me, really trust me, I have to show him with actions and not with words what he means to me and so I just lie there, holding him, stroking his hair, providing the comfort he so desperately seeks and rarely finds.

Without being fully aware of it, I start humming a lullaby my nanny always sang to me when I was afraid of something. I remember that it never failed to calm me and I hope it will have the same effect on him.

Slowly, very slowly, the trembling subsides and his breaths become deep and calm. I can still feel the tension in his back but that, too, eases away as I keep on humming and stroking. Eventually, his hand closes around mine and squeezes it and I place another kiss on his pale skin, assuring him that I am still there.

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

His speech is even more slurred now from exhaustion and too much ale but the desperate undertone is gone and I am oh so thankful for that. It means I've done something right. Yet, there is still a nagging feeling in my guts that won't go away. I have to think of that backpack in the next room and a surge of panic makes my stomach churn. Anders is not the only one who's afraid of being left behind.

"Will you?"

I need to know. I am afraid of the answer but I need to know. He turns in my arms and looks at me from under half-closed, heavy lids. His hand raises to my hair and strokes it just like I stroked his a moment ago.

"I won't go anywhere," he promises and leans in for a kiss. It tastes of ale and tears and sorrow and hope and I savor every moment of it, feeling as if a whole mountain is falling off my chest. When we part I snuggle up against his chest and he puts his arms around me, pulling me as close as possible.

"I won't either," I assure him. My eyes drift shut while I listen to his heart that beats strong and even under my cheek again, confident that neither of us will have to fear loneliness any longer.


End file.
